


Can't Go Back

by neverending_story



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_story/pseuds/neverending_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things you can't go back to.</p><p>CHAPTER 8 HAS BEEN POSTED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Be Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrangipaniFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/gifts).



> Some things you can’t go back to, some things need left alone  
> Don’t mess with a memories of a life passed on  
> Oh the tumbling reservations at the heart of my mistakes  
> Oh some things you can’t go back to cause you let them slip away
> 
> I don’t wanna be a witness to a path that’s overgrown  
> I don’t wanna see this house not be a home  
> ‘Cause time has taken toll on what we couldn’t see  
> No I don’t wanna be a witness to the end of you and me
> 
> Rosi Golan

"Hey. Sorry I'm late. It's a whirlwind these days...It's good that you're outside. Fresh air. Must be nice to be able to...I thought…maybe next time…I could bring her…Franny…if that'd be ok with you."

"I don't mind." 

"God, she's big. You wouldn't recognize her." 

"Uhm…Maybe. Last time when I saw her she was…Does she still have it? The hair. Is it still red?"

"Oh, yeah. It's not that bright as it used to be though. Maggie says she looks like me."

"Do you still think of him?"

"…Uhm, sometimes. But not very often. He was a broken man. He was many things but…I guess this was the truest of them all."

"Well…aren't we all…at some point."

"..."

"..."

"I read it, Quinn."

"You read what?"

"The letter. Dar gave it to me at Landstuhl."

"Oh, _that_. Pile of crap." 

"Is it?"

"Hardly remember it. Doesn't mean anything anymore." 

"It doesn't?"

"I hope you've got rid of it."

"I haven't."

"Well, you should've."

"Quinn, I…I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For everything…Berlin…"

"Forget it."

"I don’t think I can." 

"Yeah it turned out to be pretty shitty for you out there."

"I don't mean _me_. Quinn, if I could turn back time…"

"Well, wouldn't _that_ be nice."

"I wish…sometimes I wish I'd talked to my dad more often. Been there when he died. Thank him for what he'd done for Franny. For _me ___. I often think of the day of his funeral. He was leaving me but he was somehow coming back at the same time. Sometimes when I think of that wake, I think of you too…of _us_."

"That's ancient history, Carrie." 

"Is it..." 

_Some things you can't go back to_. 

"..."

"..."

"It's getting cold, I'm gonna go inside. I'm really tired today." 

"Yeah...ok...well...don't forget to..." 

"...take my meds...yeah. And brush my teeth." 

"..."

"..."

"...Quinn?"

"..."

"I'll be back. Tomorrow."

"..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The memory of things become the reality of things.  
> Or maybe the past is not permanent. Maybe the tree has  
> said its fill, and leaves us with an image of ourselves.” 
> 
> Richard Jackson, _Retrievals_


	2. Just Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The thing is to sift out  
> the important sounds, little syllables and vowels that bring  
> hints of their lost words, and not to mistake the fossil for  
> the life, or the kiss for the love, not to mistake the fragment  
> for the sentence.” 
> 
> Richard Jackson, _Out of Place_

Spring is already here, it came suddenly, without warning. She didn’t even notice how quickly the season changed. Seasons change and he’s still the same. Or is he not? Each time she visits him, her stomach churns. But there is also that one estranged organ in her chest, still beating firmly every time he looks at her and she tries to speak. She can’t make out if it’s the anxiety or if it is…the other thing. She’s confused. So fucking confused. She feels so many things, it’s really hard to muster what they mean. She's got used to this routine. Circling around like a bee, not knowing where she stands exactly. It's a well known pattern. Opening the front door, greeting the nurses, the same gazes, the clean smell of the empty corridors which makes her nauseous because she isn’t very fond of hospitals.

He’s sitting outside today. It’s wormer, so they let him. He’s here but at the same time, he’s not. It’s hard to learn to be present, she still struggles with it from time to time. Franny has helped a lot with that. She doesn’t need distractions she needed before to disassociate. From life, from reality. 

She greets him feebly. She is uncomfortably vulnerable around him these days. She feels that she’s fallen in love with him so deeply, she can’t go back now. She’s trapped. Falling deeper and deeper down, like Alice, down the rabbit’s hole. She tries to sleep and all she sees is his face. It’s blurry though. She tries to remember the curve of his lips, how it felt when he kissed her, but she can’t. When she sees him, she avoids to look at him directly in the eye. At least not for too long. Maybe because she yearns for him to look at her, once again, that way he did, long ago, and she’s afraid what she’ll see. What if his look will be… just a look. Of a stranger. Of a person that doesn’t care about her anymore. Of a person that doesn’t care about _anything_ anymore. 

When she thinks abut this, she can’t sleep. Sometimes she still sees him with all those tubes inside him. That makes her want to vomit. And then she gets up and takes Franny to school. And nearly collapses at work because she’s so tired. Maggie says she needs to slow down, give him space. It’s hard. So fucking hard. Now, more than anything, she wants him to hold her tightly in his arms. How many times did he do this? Just once. For real. When she was certain she could hear his heartbeat. In that moment, too, she was afraid he’d hear her own. She wants him, so desperately, to do this again. To say it’s going to be all right. But she can’t because he’s the reason she feels this way, and she has to be strong _for_ him. Present _for_ him. Does he even notice that she’s trying? 

_Quinn_. This fucking name. Each time she sees the letter _Q_ , whether she’s learning the alphabet with Franny, or she’s looking at the counters in the shop and notices it written somewhere, she thinks of him. Am I insane? Or am I in love, she ponders. Probably both. She thinks he’s forgotten her. He’s often looking at her as if she was a wall. He doesn’t seem to care anymore. It crushes her because she was so used to him being always _there_. Even in Berlin, horrible as it all was. And now he’s not. Not really.

She remembers staring at a small package the other day. _Quinoa_. Q. U. I. N. She stops. God. Oh, Quinn. You’d probably laugh that I’m thinking of you while cooking. You’d probably laugh that I cook at all, that is. Have you ever cooked? Now she sees him in Maggie’s kitchen, rolled sleeves and all. Was that really him? She imagines them having a family dinner and it only makes her sad. Because she actually can’t imagine it. There is a veil over that scene, those people are ghosts, faces without features. And she’s on it again, thinking of those letters, as if playing scrabble and wanting to win a round. Q. U. I. _Quickly. Quietly_. Come on, kiss me _quickly_. Make love to me, _quietly_ , because Franny is in the next room, sleeping. Jesus, I’m pathetic, she thinks. He loved me for so long, and I love him now, more than I ever...loved anyone…at least I think I do because it hurts the most. And he doesn’t care anymore. But that’s life too. Fuck it. I’m gonna cook some fucking quinoa instead.

Yeah, Carrie. You are. We _both_ fucking are. The thing is, I loved you. I really did. It was painful. It was beautiful. But that person isn’t here anymore. That person died in that chamber, Carrie. Maybe that person kind of died long before, in the Syrian deserts. Maybe I had been dead already, when I left you alone. I did that. We missed each other. We should’ve never clashed, that is. We’re magnets, Carrie. We are. But the north pole ones. It would’ve never worked. But I’m not that pathetic asshole anymore. I’m not holding onto some damn fantasy. You’re not going to fool me now. I thought, maybe you felt something too. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. Happens to all of us. Sometimes, illusions are less painful than the actual facts. And sometimes they hurt way beyond the reality. The reality makes them even more bleak in reverse. And what’s with this caretaker routine anyway? Are you my nurse? Are you my mother? I just can’t take this anymore. Do you want to hear a joke? The only thing that’s keeping me from going absolutely insane is you. And at the same time, you’re the reason why I’ll turn insane very soon.

We are like shells, Carrie. Lost and abandoned shells on the shore. Although I’m the empty one and you’re not. You can still go and return to the sea. You’re not done yet. I’ll just dry here in the sunshine. Isn’t that what’s happening right now anyway? I’m rotting, slowly fossilizing in the sand. There’s no life inside me anymore. You’ve still got a chance though. Go for it. Who are you trying to kid? We are bad for each other and we’ve always been like that. I’m just a stupid asshole who thought… Ah. Fuck it. But you’re not an empty shell, you’re not. You have Franny. That’s a life worth living. And you escaped, you did it. Go and find yourself another boring as hell lawyer. Or a teacher. Someone decent. Someone like that. Someone who wouldn’t kill a fly. Someone who’s not an empty shell. Go and have that.

I’m not saying it because I’m resentful. It’ll be good for you. Believe it or not, I wish you all the love in the world. And for all that is worth, I don’t wish you _me_. I’d hate to see you unhappy. And that would most certainly happen if…Jesus. Look at me. I’m saying it like you’re actually considering this option. Surprise, surprise, we have an irresistible offer here, a crippled assassin, well, _former_ assassin who’s also a giant pathetic fool. A fool who fell in love with someone unattainable and kept holding onto this stupid dream until it destroyed him. Of course, I’m not blaming you. I could never do that. What is love, anyway? Do we really need it? Isn’t it always toxic? I figured it’s like a poison. It spreads in your veins before you know it and then…it kills you mercilessly.

Sometimes I wish I’d die there. In that fucking chamber. It would’ve been easier. For me, for everyone. Even for you. I kind of selfishly wish to see what that would’ve done to you. Maybe nothing. That I fear the most. _Yeah, well, my friend is dead. Were we even friends at all? The devoted puppy that followed me everywhere_. Sometimes I almost vividly see it. Isn’t that utterly stupid? The image of you crying above my cold body kind of morbidly satisfies me. You’re whispering my name, with hands spread on the chamber glass, like in some fucked up postmodern fairy tale. Except, the roles are reversed, you’re the prince charming and I’m the fucking helpless maiden. What an irony. And sometimes, sometimes this image is so vidid I actually think it _did_ happen. You’ve realized you love me, then and there, and you’d do anything for me to come from the dead and live. You smile when I move. A perfectly formed tear falls down your cheek. Music starts playing. Strings, most likely. Like in a fucking movie.

Do you still want that Carrie? Do you? Be honest here. You’ve already got one child. You don’t need another one. Because I’m not competing here to be your boyfriend, let’s be clear about that. I know what are my chances. But I’m not your patient either and you’re not my nurse. God I hate this fucking sun. So bright it’s gonna burn my eyes out. Not that I need them anymore. I probably won’t shoot anything except…isn’t it funny that I probably wouldn’t even be able to shoot _myself_? Don’t look at me like that, Carrie. Don’t you fucking dare. Yes, I still wish to run my fingers through your hair. Yes, I still want to kiss you and feel the floods of warmth in my chest, like I once did. Of course I still love you. Because I’m still that asshole. That hasn’t changed, unfortunately. As much as I wish it has. And maybe a part of me still believes it. That you might...actually...perhaps...Ah. Never mind.

Quinn, it’s not about you. Maybe it’s about me. I’m feeling so fucking guilty. I don’t know what I am. Some days I hate you. For not noticing me, for not loving me. And then I hate myself. For all these feelings, for all these assumptions. For not being strong enough. Strong enough to help you, or perhaps, strong enough to let you go. You know, in that room, I wanted to do the last right thing. I wanted to let you have it. To be free. I wanted to see you wake up so badly. Then I panicked. What I was going to do, I saw that as the only solution, as the only salvation. But then, I thought, maybe I don’t have the right at all. I’m not the one to make that decision. And maybe it was, in the end, the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Keeping you here. Because I couldn’t bear to lose you. Again. And I’m sorry for that. I hope you can forgive me one day. It’s just…Sometimes I feel like I’m a lighthouse and you’re lost at the sea. And the light inside me is so feeble, it’s hardly seen from afar. I’m desperately trying to keep it alive but you don’t see it, you concentrate only on the darkness that surrounds you. And I’m trying to navigate you, to let you know that the battle is not lost yet, but you’re disappearing from my sight. I’m losing you. And I don’t want to. Can’t you see it, Quinn?

The silence became their mode of communication. Only the spring breeze keeps whispering something they can’t quite catch. There is an old legend saying some people are able to communicate silently, through their minds. Or is it through their hearts? Or is it just an echo of the wind? Curling around the corners of the empty streets like an omen.

What are we, Carrie?

I honestly don’t know.  
But I love you, you know. I do.

Yeah? I do too. Still. More than ever, actually.  
Now smile and pretend it’s gonna be all right.

But it will, Quinn. _It will_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all this love, after the birds rip like scissors  through the morning sky, after we leave, when the empty  bed appears like a collapsed galaxy, or the wake of  disturbed air behind a plane, after that, as the wind turns  to stone, as the leaves shriek, you are still breathing  inside my own breath. The lighthouse on the far point  still sweeps away the darkness with the brush of an arm.  The tides inside your heart still pull me towards you. 
> 
> Richard Jackson, _After All This_


	3. Patterns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the lovely FrangipaniFlower.

Sometimes she feels like she's following a pattern that someone else drew for her. Or is it a circle? More often than not, it's a devious route; wandering from one point to the other, not sure what awaits round the next corner. What if the steep mountain she's trying to climb, what if that's just the end of it all. From then on, it's only going downhill. And maybe it has already peaked, it's already behind her, she just didn't notice and now it's all too late and things will only get worse. But she is trying anyway, because that's what she always does. 

She tries to find solace in the little things. Think positively. That's what every shrink in the world would say. It's written in every stupid self-help book. And that's what Maggie tells her, every time she senses the continuous sadness in her voice when she tries to speak about something completely irrelevant. It's hard not to see the world in its complexity, in the midsts of the chaos that has always fascinated her. But focusing on the simplicity of everyday life, sometimes that really helps. She often remembers her father watching the trash bins being emptied in the streets, standing completely still, in awe of it all, saying, "Isn't it just beautiful? Everything makes sense."

There are patterns in the world that can't be erased. There is something incredibly reassuring in that certainty. With the spring being in full bloom now, she realizes this more than ever. The nature flourishes, everything follows the exact same routine. It was the same last year and it will be no different the next one. If only it was that simple for the humans. Despite the limited amount of words spoken, they have developed a routine of their own, her and Quinn. The weather is mostly nice these day, so they are spending her visits outside. They still don't talk much, not about the heavy topics anyway, but it feels good just to know that he is willing to sit by her side, even in silence. Quinn has never been much of a talker, but the silence between them is not awkward, and if it ever was, now it certainly isn't. Actually, she thinks he is one of the few people she feels comfortable with like that, the urge to keep talking no matter what easily wears one out. Maybe she was like that in the beginning, trying so hard to maintain conversations, even ridiculous small talks about pretty much anything and nothing. Maybe there is too much history between them to be musing about the weather, like two strangers on a park bench. And even if she ever tried to bring up something more meaningful, tentatively, to open up a window to him, he shut it down immediately. So at a certain point, she just gave up and let it go. Though, the silence is very freeing for her. And maybe for him too. When she closes her eyes and listens to the birds singing, her mind takes her to many places from her past. Lebanon. Pakistan. Iran. Germany. They really sound the same. Isn't that strange? Or are those the same birds? Could be. Traveling miles and miles just to come home. And then next year, they do it all over again. 

Sometimes, when Quinn isn't looking and seems to be in his own secret world, again, she notices his features in more detail. For example, his hair looks so much lighter in the strong afternoon sunlight, and she likes that. Or his eyelashes, or his -

"Look at them, Carrie. They know exactly where they’re going…and why that’s so hard for me? Why can’t _we_ …?"

"Did you say something?"

"Oh, I thought that wasn’t out loud….Just look at them...Jesus, is one entire nation moving or what?"

"Perks of the spring. Little fuckers. We used to have them at the cabin all the time. Millions of them actually. Worst are the ones with wings. Those I would kill in a…Quinn?

"Uhm...What?"

"…You just smiled.."

"Did I? Yeah, well…I just thought…what it might be like…being an ant…you are on a mission of sorts..you have this one goal..your whole life depends on it…you just have to…survive I guess…I heard they make mathematical patterns while they move…isn’t that fascinating? We’re just so entitled we think we somehow…matter more…and maybe the thing is…we don’t…maybe we don’t matter at all…we betray each other, hate each other, kill each other…what the fuck makes us better? They don’t bother anyone…and just when they think they’ve made it, few inches away from the final destination, some motherfucker steps on them and that’s it. End of story. Aren’t we all just pathetic…with all the _whys_ and _ifs_ …sometimes I wish my brain would turn into mush and I wouldn’t wonder about anything ever again…"

"Yeah…wouldn’t that be nice…they probably don’t think much about anything. Just… live. Must be quite freeing… not to think about death…or why they’re not having the life they wanted…or why something happened to them…what they’ve done or…could’ve done but didn’t…they just... _are_. Simple as that."

"Yeah…"

"Quinn…it’s gonna get better…I know you might not believe in it but you’ve made such a progress already…I know it’s hard, I know you don’t want to be lectured on gratitude or another chances...and...you might be annoyed with me and I get that. I'm not blaming you..but I want you to know I’m not doing it out of guilt or…not that I don’t feel guilty, I do, but…I mean this. I truly want you to get better, please believe that." 

She is surprised by the flow of the words that just came out of her mouth, she's just opened the window without thinking, probably overwhelmed by the stream of full sentences he managed to produce. It doesn't bother her that he is not saying anything, because the veil from his eyes seems to slowly vanish. Maybe it did some time ago, she just haven't noticed. 

"Are you still contemplating those ants?"

"Kind of. Yeah."

"Wanna swap places with them? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all…being an ant." 

"Until some fucker steps on you?…No thanks. Still…I’ve already been stepped on, so…"

"But you’re still here. And…I’m so glad you are. Your mission isn’t finished, Quinn. Try to believe it.  
That one…I like that one. You see him? Wonder where he’s going…to whom he’s going…I hope he’ll make it." 

"...I envy him…still has a reason to go on. To keep moving."

"And you don't…have any reason?

"I’m not sure if I have one…"

"I think you do."

Without noticing it, as she is saying those four words, she places her right hand on his. Tentatively, a little afraid that he would flinch or get angry, but he doesn't. After a few brief moments, the hand is still there and she is looking at him now, trying to find an answer in his eyes. He is not saying anything, his own hand isn't moving, or responding to her touch, in fact, his body seems a bit stiff as a result of this unexpected sensation, but his eyes, those eyes could never lie, no matter how hard he would try. She still doesn't see the answer, perhaps it's too early for that, but she sees something, nevertheless, she certainly does. And because up until this moment, she has spent quite some time studying the delicate patterns the wrinkles around his eyes form, she knows what those sharpened furrows, appearing suddenly and involuntarily, might mean. 

She has no words left, they disappeared, fragile like a dandelion suddenly blown by the flow of the wind. She is still looking at him and he still hasn't turned away either. She sighs heavily and curls her lips into one of the most liberating, happiest and truest smiles of the past few moths. 

_________________

 

"Carrie, you really need to do something about this…"

"About what?"

"You probably left something here and now they’re everywhere…well not anymore but they could be back."

"Did you kill them? _All_ of them?"

"Well I bloody well hope so."

"Oh, Maggie, no…"

"Are you serious? Didn't know you've become so sensitive over ants recently. You're turning into Dad. Always the pacifist. Don't you remember? It was us who had to clean the cabin, drag them out with whatever was available, jump on them if necessary, with him sitting at the porch saying -'Maggie, dear, what did they do to you? It's nature. Leave them be.' And then we had to pick them out of our jelly toasts, I certainly accidentally ate many of them as a result...Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, yeah…How was Franny today?"

"Great but Carrie..are you really ok? How are things with Quinn? How is he doing?"

"Quinn? Well…I...what?! Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing, you just seem a bit…different. Happier. Did something happen?"

"I don’t know..maybe...I mean maybe it doesn’t mean anything but…"

"But maybe it _does_ …"

__________________

 

Working late at night was never a problem, she couldn't sleep anyway, but today she is tired more than ever. She haven't even noticed she is doodling on her report papers, thinking about someone in particular. What is he doing now, what is he thinking of, what did those events of today really mean? The memory of Quinn's philosophical musings about ants makes her smile again. And just when she thinks it's time to go to bed and leave it for the early morning, she sees one, roving through the sheer whiteness of the paper, like a pilgrim in the wilderness, through a field of snow. Watching his journey from one corner to the next, from one boring work paper due morning to the other, she takes a pencil and starts to draw a circle around this tiny creature. Suddenly, she remembers how every summer at the cabin, they used to do this with Maggie and every time dad saw them, he wasn't very happy about it. You can't do that, he used to say, rebukingly. If you draw a circle around an ant, you break the trail scent the ant is following. She could hear him in her head, as if he was talking to her right now. Ants follow a scent trail made by other ants when they go from place to place. Breaking it would condemn the poor ant to an endless despair, searching for the right way out, all hope lost. So she slowly puts the pencil down and watches the ant vanish into the adventurous land that is her dining table. 

Back to today. Back to Quinn. The memory of him looking at her, really _looking_ sends shivers down her spine. She is almost certainly going to fall asleep here, drifting away thinking about the blue in his eyes that is so much bluer in the sunlight...but she also remembers one last thing. Once the ant gets past the chalk circle and finds the trail again, it gets back on track, there is a way how to return. And with that realization, with a deep sigh of relief and exhaustion, she finally drifts into unconsciousness. And there it is again, glimmering in the light of the lamp like a jewel, wandering across the softness of her pale skin, on its way back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ants
> 
> The ants had lost their way home.
> 
> They walked, making lines between our sleep and our bodies.  
> Their invisible flour stays scattered in their memory, scattered  
> by some other place and time. They kept going from one end  
> of the earth to the other in search of it. They sank their teeth  
> in every living and dead thing. The sorrows of the earth grew  
> so light with their journeying that directions began to spin in  
> confusion. The poles began to change places. But nobody  
> knew the ants' sorrow.
> 
> Long ago, perhaps they were women.
> 
> CAGAN GILL
> 
> _____________
> 
> The Three Ants
> 
> Three ants met on the nose of a man who was asleep in the sun. And  
> after they had saluted one another, each according to the custom  
> of his tribe, they stood there conversing.
> 
> The first ant said, “These hills and plains are the most barren I  
> have known. I have searched all day for a grain of some sort, and  
> there is none to be found.”
> 
> Said the second ant, “I too have found nothing, though I have  
> visited every nook and glade. This is, I believe, what my people  
> call the soft, moving land where nothing grows.”
> 
> Then the third ant raised his head and said, “My friends, we are  
> standing now on the nose of the Supreme Ant, the mighty and infinite  
> Ant, whose body is so great that we cannot see it, whose shadow  
> is so vast that we cannot trace it, whose voice is so loud that we  
> cannot hear it; and He is omnipresent.”
> 
> When the third ant spoke thus the other ants looked at each other  
> and laughed.
> 
> At that moment the man moved and in his sleep raised his hand and  
> scratched his nose, and the three ants were crushed.
> 
> KAHLIL GIBRAN


	4. The Wave Always Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apart from the sound of the waves tossing and crashing against the shore, the soundtrack for this chapter is Arctic by Sleeping at Last, from their EP Altlas: Oceans. You can listen to it here https://soundcloud.com/sleepingatlast/arctic
> 
> I know it might be a little weird that they speak in metaphors but then..."light on the headlands" is out there so...maybe it's possible..at least in the world of this story...

Long time ago, maybe in a different lifetime, there was a guy who used to eat tuna from a can, a lone wolf who went from one mission to the next, always living on the edge. His very own unbreakable pattern. And then it was always too late to stop and turn. To stop and change. Of course, I don’t know him anymore. I was him and he was me, but…that’s all gone. I can’t really say I remember much, I guess, it was inevitable we’d part our ways sooner or later. One thing I do remember though. You. For you, he always had the time to stop and turn. For you, he could. Most of the time. Not always, I know. But he wanted to. It was quite difficult to say no. His very own Achille’s heal. Maybe the only one he’d ever had. Of course, you annoyed him quite often, don’t think you didn’t but…what do they say? Sirens lure you to the point of no return, but it’s _you_ who’d let them in the first place. And he'd let you to do that to him. And then it finally happened. Out of the blue, just like that. He held you in his arms and thought…that it was all worth it…he assured himself that he would do it all over again, just to taste that blissful oblivion one more time.

Was it even real, Carrie? I don’t even know anymore. I forced myself to forget all of it. Well, at least I tried to. Not to think about it. Because if I did…and I did, believe me. Every single fucking second. Thirteen to be precise. I replayed it so many times, memorized every single movement, every single detail, that I started counting. And then…all that clusterfuck…Syria…Berlin…Had to have a shield, you know. An armor that would cover all that weakness. I had to be stone cold, I just had to. For all I know, just one look into those blue wells of yours and I’d be gone. And I was gone. I am. 

Sometimes, when you’re not looking and seem to be in your own secret world, again, I notice you in more detail. Like…your hair looks so much lighter in the strong afternoon sunlight, if that’s even possible…or that little wrinkle between your eyebrows, forming each time you seem to be in deep thought, or just…upset. I’m glad you’re here with me but…why, Carrie? Don’t you have anything better to do? But I’m not gonna think about it, certainly not now. I’m just gonna forget everything. Forget the past, forget the future. Just…live. Remember? Fucking ants. Still making the sense out of it all better than me. You know what’s funny? I wanted to ask you..the other day…how it is…how it feels…now that you’re out. And then it hit me. I’m out too. Not willingly, but I am. And it feels fucking awful. Just when - Jesus, Carrie, watch your steps… 

“Oh, fuck. Thanks. It’s very slippery.”

Doesn’t feel that bad. Doesn’t feel so unfamiliar. It’s the first time they’re touching since…yeah, since the stupid ant talk. But it felt so good when she did that. 

“Yeah, I can see that. Don’t break anything, I can’t carry you on my back.”

At least he talks. That’s a good thing. For some reason, she feels awkward. Is this a date? Certainly not. It’s just a friendly walk. She drove him out of the city to get some fresh air. Walk along the shore. The weather is awful though and he’s grumpy. It’s certainly not a date. It’s not anything. So why does she feel like it means everything then…Why does she feels everything and why does she feels it all at once. Calm down, Carrie. Fucking calm down. You touched his hand and he didn’t pull away. That still doesn’t mean anything. But he looked so…something in that look…Those seconds before he leaned in. Millions years ago. That same look. When she remembers that, and she often does, it makes her shiver. 

They're walking, barely talking. But it’s an improvement, the car ride was unbearably silent. There were moments he seemed to be smiling. It was very subtle, but it made her happy. And confused her even more. The wind is wild today, waves crashing against the shore with such force that she’s afraid it'd blow them away had they come any closer. And maybe it would be a good thing. No, she’s not thinking about death. More like…maybe it would eventually force them to get close. They’d have to hold onto each other. She imagines herself clinging to his arm, to his neck, maybe he would kiss her then…She’d like him to kiss her like that. The image of them together, soaked to the bone…in the wilderness of the ocean…kissing…makes her pulse run high so she stops herself and looks over at him. So fucking difficult to read him. She thought she could, but now…it’s not easy now…So she decides to speak, afraid of her own thoughts and the direction they seem to be taking. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing much. Just..how enormous the ocean is. I like looking at it.”

“Yeah, me too. Sometimes it’d be quite handy to get lost in it. Just…disappear. 

“It felt that way. When I was…gone…out there…when I couldn’t get back…felt like the bottom of the ocean, the real, outer world was so distant…it was scary but somehow…weirdly soothing as well.”

“My grandmother almost drowned when she was a young girl…and…when they rescued her and took her to the shore, she said to them, as if disappointed, 'Why did you do that? You should’ve left me there. It was so beautiful down there..' She even heard someone singing to her. Didn’t want to come back at all.” 

“Or maybe your grandmother was a Selkie.”

“What’s that?”

“Selkie? A Half-woman, half-seal, a sea creature that tempts humans, causing ships to wreck on rocky shores. A female Selkie can get rid of her seal skin and take human form, comes ashore as a beautiful woman, luring the men into falling for her. Of course, when someone takes her seal skin and hides it, she’s forced to become his wife and can’t go back. However, should she ever find her skin she immediately returns to the sea, leaving the husband to pine and die. At least in the stories they all do.” 

“Didn’t know you take interest in fairy tales.”

“That’s what _my_ grandmother told me.” 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Did you hear me? Or anything…at all. When you were…out there. Away.” 

Did you hear all my sobbing, all those things I probably could’t tell you face to face. Or at least, if you were looking at me. Awake. Alive and healthy. The way you always used to. 

“I’m not quite sure…I did hear something. Distant sounds and some voices…maybe…maybe I did hear it…but maybe I only imagined it…things I _wanted_ to hear…”

Not quite sure, Carrie. I heard some things. I heard the doctors. And a feeble voice, trembling somewhere in the distance, like a leaf in the wind. I thought you were telling me all that stuff I’ve always longed to hear but…was it real? What was real though, you. In all those weird dreams I had. My brain was apparently pretty fucked, but certainly not that part that you’d settled in. You were there, all of you. Your face…your smile…your -

She feels the intensity of the moment, he’s just opened a window, too. A little hole, hardly a window, but still. And it makes her nervous because what if the waves would actually really take them with them and they would…fuck no. She’s not ready! So she quickly breaks the intense silence forming between them.

“And so…is there a male one too? That seal creature.”

“There is. He does the same exact thing. He usually choses lonely, unhappy women…and then when he finds his skin and leaves them too, well…that doesn’t end well for them either.”

“That’s fucking sad.”

And just when she’s preparing some other topic to keep the conversation going, because these days it’s suddenly harder to be silent with him, he continues and it takes her by surprise. 

“Maybe I’ve lost my own skin too. I’m not luring innocent maidens, no…I’m past that shit but…I’m not myself anymore…will I ever be? Do I have to learn to be someone new?”

“And…if you found that skin…would you…would you go back to the sea?”

“That’s the only thing I know, Carrie.”

“And me? I’m the same. Maybe I’m living without that skin as well…but…maybe I don’t need it anymore.”

“Yeah, maybe you’ve already found the poor fisherman who’s gonna crash against the rocks very soon.”

These snarky comments aimed at her have always been his thing. At least, the old Quinn seems to be back. Some of him at least. 

“Why do you think living without it is so fucking miserable? Maybe living in the ocean is so fucking lonely too.”

“Weirdly that’s my home. I know, it’s fucked up…but I don’t have anything else…and I was good at it. It was fucked, but I was good.” 

“You were…”

They both know they’re no longer talking about the sea creatures nor musing about the myths and legends.

“And so then…if living without that skin is so difficult…for someone else to understand…for someone who’s different…but maybe if there was someone who has lost it too…wouldn’t that make things a little bit…better? Wouldn’t it be possible to be…happy…again…”

“Still…sooner or later one of them would find it and run straight to the waters again…That’s even worse.”

“And maybe you’re not that seal key or sel..selkie or whatever it is..Maybe you’re more like a wave. Maybe a part of you is gone but…you came back…a part of you is back…the wave disappears and dies but…it always returns.”

“It always returns different…”

“But you’re still… _you_. The part of you that’s you. The part that’s… _Quinn_.”

They’re not shielded anymore and they both feel it. They’ve opened all the windows and now they’re slowly peaking through the doors as well. She sees that something has changed in him…He’s not that shy anymore. His expression has changed. She treated him with such care, as he was made of tissue paper, and still he was so hardened…fragile but distant. And now his features seem so much softer…but his eyes are so much sharper…there is so much more colour in them. She can’t make sense of it all. And he’s looking right at her…or rather…right through her…into her. She wanted this but he’s getting so close that she’s afraid she’ll suffocate. So she stops analyzing. Stops thinking and caring.

“I’m gonna go in.”

“Are you fucking insane, Carrie?”

Carrie being Carrie once again. He kind of missed that though. 

“Wanna go back to the ocean? Follow me.” She’s running towards the waves, opening her hands like a little girl, wind caressing her hair, she looks like a Selkie herself. He suddenly feels this strange feeling in his chest…so he _is_ alive after all. It’s a strange sensation. It’s freezing cold out here, but he feels odd floods of warmth spreading all over the spot where he apparently still has a heart. 

He wants to run too, only he’s not that fit yet. She really _is_ crazy. He feels the muscles around his mouth moving. Yeah, that’s smiling. It’s been a while. He stills remembers how to do it. 

She turns around and waves at him. He can’t believe she’s doing that. It looks like she’s smiling too. Is this even real? And just when he’s decided to follow her, fuck it all and start running, even if he falls over, she moves backwards, slips and plunges in the water like a dead weight. 

He doesn’t even know how, he must have run and survived it, he’s already there, helping her to get to her feet.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck! Shit.” She’s soaked to the bone, the embodiment of a fair mermaid, swearing fervently. 

Yeah I told you, Carrie. But he’s not going to say it. Instead, he notices someone laughing. It’s only after couple of seconds he realizes it’s him. He forgot the sound of his own laughter. It’s not very nice of him, but he can’t stop. It feels as if he was releasing all the pain through this, and for a moment, he forgets it all. It’s not only him, he hears her too, they are both laughing now like maniacs. He can’t believe what this is all turning into. How have they ended up like this? Have they ever actually laughed together? Probably not. It’s the kind of laughter that can’t be stopped, it makes one’s stomach churn after a while. He’s afraid he’s going to pass out. The image of Carrie and her small frame trying to carry him to the car makes him laugh even more. And then he notices it. She has turned away from him and it looks like she’s not laughing anymore. Her shoulders are still moving but it seems like she’s crying. 

A lost selkie that can’t find her seal skin. The water is dripping from her clothes, she looks suddenly so fragile it makes him want to hold her and never let go. His very own siren. Although, she’s not singing a lure, it’s a lament. Maybe for him, maybe for herself. Maybe because neither of them can go back. Maybe because they will never return to the sea ever again. 

He’s done thinking. He’s done complaining. He slowly steps forward and grabs her hand, almost too firmly, but then stops, not sure whether to continue. She stands still, barely moves but he sees she’s trembling. He moves further towards her. He touches her shoulders and pulls her towards him like a fisherman would pull a pram, away from the crashing waves. With a bit of force at first, but then gently. Very very cautiously. He embraces her. She needed this so much, being embraced by him. By his warmth. They are both cold and he’s now a bit wet too, but when they’re holding each other, all that iciness seems to disappear. He gives her his warmth and she gives him hers. It’s a fine trade. It’s a good deal.

Words are a form of touch, and this touch, this touch hides poetry, the words are just finding their way out very slowly, they're floating just below the surface. He slightly moves his head and whispers, so close that she feels his breath on her wet skin - “You smell like the sea,” and without hesitation, without any warning he’s gonna do this, he kisses the corner of her mouth. It’s just a light touch of his lips against hers, she shivers to that sensation, but not because she’s cold. 

She feels his hair on her cheek. His skin on her skin. Their ears almost touch. She waits for him to say something else, something more, but he doesn’t. She wants to be sure that it’s really him. They still don’t dare to move. Her heart is beating quicker now, she wonders whether he feels this. Whether he hears it screaming, because she hears it in her veins. His touch could melt icebergs, it’s already melting all the blood left in her that has been frozen until this very moment. He still doesn’t look at her, he just holds her, close, the closest he’s ever held her.

He’s not sure whether to do it or not, she’s not sure whether she should do it or not. But then he does. He moves to her mouth and kisses her. Properly. Truly. Eternally. And maybe she should’ve expected it, because she forgot to take a deep breath, and now she’s drowning. She’s falling to the bottom of the ocean, completely at his mercy. He’s not sure whether it’s the sea he’s tasting or her salty tears. And he’s drowning too. He doesn’t know his name. He's forgetting his entire existence. It’s just her. The siren he’s kissing, the lost sea creature he so desperately wants to free from all her sorrows. She holds onto him, her very own wave. They both are. Waves getting lost in each other. Disappearing. Returning. The well known movement.

They do not know time anymore. It’s nonexistent. There’s no space. They just… _are_. The world is empty, they are completely abandoned, but they have each other. They will always, always have each other. All the words have disappeared, they are no longer important. Their hands are their only speech. Everywhere. Anywhere. And they are both saying it. They both mean it. It doesn’t matter what will happen next. What matters is now. And now is good. So fucking good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......
> 
> Sometimes I return to this shore,  
> Or shores just like it, and imagine I am looking for him.  
> But I think the wind stole his name,  
> Or his memory; either one is  
> Death to his kind.
> 
> My name is forever here, never spoken and always asked  
> My belly is against these stones,  
> The cold water sliding off my back.  
> My heart races with the advancing fog; I linger  
> As another boat is shipwrecked  
> In the tide. 
> 
> Part Thee and Me  
> by Beth Winegarner
> 
> The whole poem can be found here: http://echoes.devin.com/selkie/seal.html  
> ____________
> 
> SELKIE  
> by Brittany E. Burns
> 
> The wind blew the hanging shells until they  
> snapped and broke. The ocean curled beneath its  
> rage. Her skin shone like sun-bleached shells shattered  
> on a nest of kelp. The selkie skin I  
> stole to make her mine. Her strange voice uttered  
> no complaint when those pale bare feet touched grass.  
> Her new legs fought the thinness of the air.  
> I consumed her desire, she crashed against  
> me like the sea. What I stole I could not  
> keep. She found my cowardice, buried deep  
> in the surf, and never glancing behind  
> dove downward, downward into the sea.


	5. The Storm

"So…Mr and Mrs…sorry I’m not sure I can spell this…Oh..Kin…Oh.. sorry.”

“That’s alright, it’s a constant struggle. A family curse I guess. It’s Ó C-U-I-N-N. The Irish pride prevents us from changing it.”

“Oh, no, it’s beautiful. Sounds so…foreign.”

 _Yeah alright. Jesus. How does he do that? She’s actually blushing. Wow. Keep it together Carrie, you’re blushing yourself._ What happened to him? He nonchalantly convinced the poor woman that they had lost their ID’s in the ocean, when she, well…accidentally fell in. And they desperately need a room to dry. That part _was_ true. The receptionist is giving her a half amused, half annoyed look, just then she realizes that the water from her clothes is dripping on the floor and she’s turning the entrance hall into a pond. Looking like a fucking mermaid. This whole situation is hilarious and kind of absurd.

“How did you come up with that? Is it even real?” Carrie asks him as they climb the staircase and turn around the next corner. 

“Ó Cuinn? Ha. It is. It’s an old Irish Gaelic form of Quinn. My great grandfather changed it.”

“First the mermaid stories, now this. Aren’t you showing off a little? You know what, from now on I’m gonna call you Cuinn. Or just Ó. How do you even pronounce that? Ohhh…Oh…” Only then she notices she’s laughing at her own jokes and blushing like a teenager. _Get the grip, Carrie_. 

“Good idea by the way. I feel like a spy again. Or was it just to amuse the poor girl down there?”

“You never know. Or maybe I just wanted to cheer you up a bit.”

 _Well, you certainly did, Quinn. You know what happened down at the beach right?_ God she thinks he suffers from short term memory loss. She can’t even look at him, not alone go into a room with him and…fuck they checked in as a married couple, so they had to take one room. With just one bed. Oh, no. And he seems totally at ease with it. Most of the time, at least these past minutes, she’s looking at the floor, sure as fuck her face is bright pink as she’s trying to avoid the awkward silence. 

As he’s opening the door, he suddenly looks at her, smiling so widely that she’s afraid her increased heartbeat is fully audible. They both stare at the bed and after couple of seconds he speaks. Thank God.

“So…had a good swim Mrs. Ó Cuinn?”

“Very funny…Shit…I’m freezing.”

Yeah she certainly needs to get rid of this cold clothes that are stuck on hear like a seal skin but that would mean…Yeah. That would mean she has to get naked because there are no other clothes. Or she’ll have to spend the whole afternoon wrapped in a bed sheet. Not the most appealing idea. He sees her desperation and hesitation and very quickly takes his woolen sweater off and hands it to her, a gesture that makes his hair stand on all ends. She could eat him with a spoon right now and that certainly isn’t helping this situation.

“Here, take this.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“Be right back.”

Yeah. That same old sentence, tattooed in his mind (and his heart for that matter) forever. _I’ll be back in a few days, we’ll talk then._ That was the Missouri phone call. _We’ll talk when I get back._ Yeah, that were his dying days in Berlin. But this time, she most certainly _will_ come back. In his own sweater most likely. Probably without….yeah. Now is certainly not a good time to think about _that_. Or about the very fact that they have to share one bed. Still. She’ll dry a little and they can head back to the city in the evening. He has his meds with him, just in case but...Of course they have to return, there’s no way…no, there isn’t. 

As they were heading towards the car, cursing fervently because of the cold and the wind but also totally flustered because of what had happened there, he told her she can’t drive such long distance in those wet clothes, to what she replied that she could borrow his but then he would have to be naked instead. They both laughed at that. Not to mention the fact that the world spiraled as they kissed. They actually did. He still can’t quite believe it happened. He closes his eyes and tries to replay it in this head. Turns out, he can’t remember pretty much anything other that his aching heart and the sweet taste of her mouth with a bit of a sea salt…it was so satisfying. He remembers that her hands were all over him like she was drowning. And..yeah…it was the greatest feeling that he could remember. 

She comes out of the bathroom, suddenly so self-conscious and embarrassed, he could swear she’s actually blushing. At the same time, weird as it is, it’s completely natural seeing her like this. God knows she’s seen him in far worse and more vulnerable situations. He smiles when he sees her. It kind of knocks her over (again) because she’s not used to him smiling that often.

“What?”

“Nothing…It’s a little…."

"I know. Big on me."

"You look…nice."

"So..what will we do?"

"Go for a walk maybe, have a drink at the bar?"

"Yeah, right. Me in this oversized woolen sweater without pants, that’s …such a great idea."

"Ha, sorry, didn’t think of that...yeah well…we could stay here. I could get us food."

"Ok, sounds good…"

"Olives? Greek?"

Suddenly there is a twinkle in her eye. As if she has just thought of something. She looks as if trying to hide a mischievous smile that would, had she let herself, turn into a giant grin. 

He gives her a questioning and a bit confused look. 

“Nothing, I just…remembered something.” Then she continues as if trying to send him a special code. 

“Or...Indian?”

He doesn’t seem to catch that though which makes her weirdly sad. 

“Well maybe they’ll have something down the road. I’ll ask that girl at the reception desk.”

"She’ll be pleased to see you again."

"You can come with…it’s more like a woolen dress now that I look at it."

"Ha ha. No thanks. I’ll stay. Still feeling a bit cold."

"Ok, so…See you in a bit."

"Yeah, see you."

What _is_ this? This polite awkwardness. On one hand, they act so casually around each other, even joke a little but there is still some veil of weirdness between them. She crawls into the bed and tucks herself in the sheets, still shivering but perhaps no longer because of the cold. She closes her eyes and sighs. Quinn’s sweater is so soft and fluffy it feels like being wrapped around a puppy. It feels like being wrapped around him, actually. If only. His warm hugs, how she missed that. She suddenly laughs, remembering how Maggie once stole a hoodie from her high school crush and slept in it for days until their dad found it and she had to undergo a lot of explaining and some heavy interrogation. She gets it now, she would sleep in this sweater forever. It feels so good, musing about Quinn’s scent. Is it men’s soap? At one point she’s sure it smells like a wild flower meadow, then she thinks it’s his own scent, just…not resembling anything at all. And then she tries to remember the sensation of his lips against hers...the way his mouth moved…just…it felt so right and…how his facial hair tickled her cheek and how…she kept touching his ears…eyes still closed with a huge smile on her face…what is this fucking sweater doing to me, she wonders. At first, she doesn’t even notice her own hand traveling slowly under the sheets, almost unconsciously..but then she thinks better of it and stops. He will be back soon and seeing her like this..well..that would be embarrassing. Oh fuck what _will_ we do in this room? Oh, no we can’t. Maybe it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. Maybe he felt sorry for me because I fell in the water, or….that I cried, I don’t know. And then she blacks out.

What felt like a few seconds could easily be couple of hours. She wakes up to the sounds of the kettle boiling. 

"Hey, didn’t want to wake you. I got us Vietnamese. Everything is closed down due to the bad weather but there was this little bistro near the beach. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, I ate a lot of that in Berlin." Oh fuck she didn’t mean to mention Berlin in front of him. It slipped out.

 

They eat in silence, huddled at the little table (probably not suited for dinners) beside one another, watching the waves going wild as they toss against the shore.

“Looks like a storm is coming.”

“Yeah, doesn’t look good.”

“I like storms. It’s strangely calming.”

“Well…at least I don’t have to drive in that.”

“Yeah, we’re stuck here for some time.”

They both awkwardly wait who’ll suggest going to the bed first. They could sit here but the chairs are so fucking uncomfortable. And then she’s glad he does it first.

“Do you mind if I stretch on the bed a little?”

“Oh, not at all.” As he’s moving towards it, she stays where she is and keeps looking through the window. I can’t be _that_ obvious, she thinks. 

“You can join me….if you want.”

“Oh, sure, ok.”

She follows him and they lie next to each other. The first time sharing a bed feels a bit odd, considering they had passionately kissed just an hour ago and now she’s here beside him, wearing nothing but his sweater, desperately wanting him to kiss her again.

“You’re good? Warm enough?”

“You’re not having your sweater back.”

“You can keep it if you want.”

As much as she would want that, kissing or even something more, she’s glad they just are together. She stops analyzing and thinking and just relishes the warmth spreading through her body, knowing he’s here beside her and that there’s no need for any pretense. She even convinced herself it’s ok if he tells her he wants just to be friends, or take things really slow. It just makes her happy to see him smile. After a while, the silence between them turns into their own form of speech. Listening to the sounds of raindrops and thunder, they both know what they are silently telling each other. They are together and that’s what matters. No need to talk about anything, analyze anything, argue or declare undying love for one another. Being here together and knowing they are safe here, sheltered from the storm, is just enough. It’s soothing and it feels so fucking good. So maybe that’s why, at one point, feeling completely at ease with him, she moves a little closer towards him and puts her head on his chest. 

“Is it ok I do that?”

“Of course.” Isn’t it beautiful to hear someone’s smile in the tone of their voice, she muses.

As he takes a deep breath, he senses her silently chuckling against his chest, as if the up and down movement has made her laugh somehow.

“Is it ok? Am I still alive?”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

Although, I’m a bit afraid the sweet scent of your hair is going to kill me soon, Carrie. My heart is still a little weak, just so you know.

“I like how you breathe…”

“The way I breathe? That’s an interesting compliment, Carrie but..thanks…” He giggles.

And I love the way you laugh. The way _I_ make you laugh. Before, I thought you never do.

“I like the sound of the rain…and the sound of you breathing.”

He doesn’t even know why, but the way she has just said this kind of knocks him over. He quickly says something otherwise he would probably shed a tear.

“I think…I do remember some things…You asked if I heard something while in coma…I…I think I remember _this_.”

“What?”

“Maybe it was a hallucination or a dream..but I could feel you on my chest, just like you’re now.

She’s embarrassed. Thank God he can’t see her face right now.

"I…yeah I did that…sorry…couple of times...I wanted to make sure that you were still breathing."

"The monitor didn’t show you that?" Yeah, good old Quinn and his teasing.

"I wanted to hear it. Your heart."

"And…now that you hear it...again...is it still there?"

"It is…"

"Good. You know, I’m glad it was you after all. I was beginning to worry it was Dar."

“By the way, he’s not that unemotional as you think he is.”

“Is he not?”

“No. He visited you too, I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“Well…he likes me what can I say.”

“Where did I hear this before…”

They both chuckle as she pulls herself up and rolls over to face him. They are looking into each other's eyes for a while and then she breaks it saying-

"Shit, Quinn. Isn’t all this so weird?"

"What?"

"Just…how things turned around and….changed…"

He imagines how it would’ve been…if they had been in the surveillance room together, while actually _being together_ …dating? No, that sounds so strange. Living together? Well..and are they even together now? Hard to say but…would they spend the whole night kissing and snuggling, barely looking at the monitors? How unprofessional. The mere image of this makes him insanely happy though.

Still with a hint of a smile across his face, maybe so obvious what he was just musing about, he whispers- 

"You hated me didn’t you?"

"Let’s say I didn’t like you _that_ much…not right away at least."

"…and now you do?" and as he says this, she cups his cheek with her hand.

"What do you think."

"May I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Were you happy there…in Germany...like…really, genuinely happy…?"

"To be honest, I was…at least I thought I was…but it seems so distant now. Like it wasn’t even me." 

"I get that." 

"I guess I wanted to make a better life for Franny, more than anything…And when I saw _her_ happy it made me happy too."

"He seemed like a decent guy..I mean…Jonas."

_What are we…girlfriends, Quinn?_

"He seemed to care about you."

"Well…it’s…I guess it wouldn’t’ve worked out in the end no matter what."

"I hope you don’t regret it…"

"Regret what?"

"You know…sticking around…with me…"

"Shut up, Quinn."

After couple of seconds she finally asks him something too. 

"And…that thing…at the beach...that…was it…do you regret it?"

"Of course I don’t…I hope…you don’t.."

"No…"

"Good…"

"So…what now…"

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"I…just…"

Not sure who leaned in first, maybe they both did, but they are kissing again, slowly, very very slowly, savoring each second…this sleepy pace makes it even worse, it makes her long for him even more…it’s unbearable how she wants him. And he wants her too… maybe something _will_ happen, she thinks…it feels like this blissful oblivion lasts the whole eternity, the sound of the rain and their breathing, their hands dangerously slipping under their clothes, and just when she thinks she’s gonna take the sweater off, he does something unexpected. He stops kissing her, lowers himself a little and gently puts his head on her shoulder, as if all this silent love declarations have exhausted him immensely. A gesture so vulnerable and tender it almost makes her cry. His hair is tickling her neck, it’s a little longer than usual so it brushes against her lips too, she embraces him with her left arm and puts her fingers in his hair, stroking it tenderly. She doesn’t talk, neither does he…they just embrace each other as if they were doing this for ages. Tired lovers listening to the storm which is singing them a love song. And they haven’t even made love yet. But it doesn’t matter. She's feeling all the love for him right now, afraid it’s all just a dream.

Just when she’s musing whether it’s the rain or the sound of his heartbeat she's listening to while slowly drifting into sleep, she hears him mutter softly-

“It feels so fucking good to be alive…”

 

___________

 

She wakes up again, the storm seems to be gone but there’s no trace of Quinn and the light outside seems to be a bit different. She’s suddenly not sure where she is, or with whom. Only then she sees him walk out of the bathroom.

"Fuck we fell asleep! What time is it?"

"It’s seven."

"AM? Fuck!"

"It’s all sorted out."

"What..sorted..how?"

"I woke up around eight and called the rehab centre. And Maggie. And then fell asleep again."

"You did?"

"She says hi and not to worry. Franny’s well." Oh well. A lot of explaining and a lot of teasing ahead of me, you've no idea, Quinn.

"God, I slept like a dead weight."

"Yeah, well…you needed that. Apparently we both did."

______________

As they were passing the receptionist and thanking her for the nice stay, they almost choked with laughter. Quinn was quiet all the way back to the city, but she caught him smiling while looking out of the window. And when they stopped at the lights he took her hand in his and she felt like she was fifteen again. Like Maggie sleeping in that hoodie. Which reminded her that she will most definitely wear his sweater tonight again.


	6. Running Away (Together?)

Carrie wakes up after a really good dreamless sleep. Well…it wasn’t dreamless exactly, but nothing could compare to that weekend dream she still relishes and had thought about the whole drive back to D.C. She closes her eyes wishing to bring the memories back again. She can’t wait to see him, maybe she could manage it today, after work, and hopes that he’s thinking about her too, and he does, only he couldn’t sleep at all, eyes wide open, looking at the ceiling and seeing her face whenever he tried to drift into unconsciousness. It wasn’t a bad thing, but those white walls around him intensify the claustrophobic feeling of an animal in a cage. Of an ant going around in circles.

Carrie decides it’s time to get back to reality and goes downstairs to make a cup of coffee, thinking the house is probably still asleep, stops to check Franny on the way, still sleeping, sweet little girl, Hugo, her dearest bunny friend huddled beside her. Sometimes she can’t quite believe how much love there can be within a person, within herself. And then she remembers the weekend again, the ocean, the waves, the night, and…muses about those two kinds of love, defining herself right now, more than ever before. And she feels so whole as a result of that realization. 

As she’s making her morning coffee, she thinks she’ll text Quinn and tell him…maybe just…that she’s thinking about him or…that she can’t wait to see him…or…that she l…no she won’t write that…that would probably knock him out but…she wonders if she’ll ever have the courage to do that…to say it directly to him…or…if it is true at all…but then she remembers the way it felt when he kissed her…at the beach…wind in her hair…his warmth that was ironically the cause of her shivering, and…she’s indeed sure she does l..that she truly utterly does l…so she takes her phone and starts typing… _hey, hey, thinking of you. Not good at this but I lo_ —

“Hey, didn’t hear you yesterday. You must’ve gotten back quite late.” 

She quickly puts her phone away, feeling caught like a kid doing something mischievous. 

"Yeah, sorry I stayed at the clinic till late afternoon. Should’ve called I know."

Sitting on the bench of the clinic park until she noticed the nurses politely (and silently) asking her to leave with their raised eyebrows (or were they moved by this grand love story and holding back their tears?), watching ants making their way back to their loved ones (or that’s what she likes to think), holding hands, saying nothing but everything at the same time, her head on his shoulder, two hearts beating steadily for each other, not a single kiss but all the kisses of the world in the single look they shared when she was leaving, a shy hug in front of his room, another reassuring look and a feeble _see you soon_. That is why she was late. 

"Oh, did you…Didn’t know they allow that…"

"Well, I asked…"

"Yeah, I can imagine that…"

It’s only then Maggie notices what her sister is wearing and raises her eyebrow, quite amused.

"What?"

"Nothing just…I’ve plenty of PJ’s. You could’ve borrowed something."

"Wh-"

Oh, shit. She forgot to change into something…what people _usually_ wear to bed. And she’s quite embarrassed. And quite glad she didn’t send that text. 

"Is that…"

"Go on, I’m all ears."

"Nothing…it’s sweet. I mean, I did that when I was sixteen but…"

Carrie rolls her eyes. Maggie smiles even wider and doesn’t forget to emphasize the word weekend. 

"So…how was your weekend?"

"Jesus, Maggie. I see where you’re heading with this but nothing happened, ok?"

"Ok, right, I’m just asking. It was nice of him to call and let me know I’m gonna babysit a little longer."

"Yeah I…long story short I accidentally fell in the sea and had to dry somehow so we rented a room at this B&B and then we kind of fell asleep and…don’t laugh I see you…well I fell asleep and he didn’t want to wake me so he called himself and we had to stay the night..maybe we would’ve stayed anyway because of the storm and…just..I didn’t plan it of course…didn’t plan a sleepover, it just…happened, ok? Sorry, didn’t mean to put you out."

"Calm down, you…We’ve sorted it out. So…nothing you say? That’s why you’re sleeping in his sweater because… _nothing_ happened."

"Jesus! All right, maybe something, I mean…a kiss…or two…"

"Oh. That’s good, I’m happy for you…for both of you."

"Yeah, well…it’s kind of unbelievable it’s…"

"You don’t have to tell me anything…"

"No, I mean…well it is… _that_ as well but….it’s so different from anything I’ve ever had Maggie, I don’t even know…"

"Well…someone’s in love."

"It’s not even that…well…I am…I guess…but…it’s him. He’s…he’s always been there..just..he understands so much, Maggie..about who I am…or…what I am…it feels…god…it’s…like…I don’t have to pretend, it’s the version of me that’s really… _me_ …it's…

She stumbles over the last words and can’t continue, lump in the throat, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

"That’s ok, Carrie…just let it go…you’ve been under such stress these past months.."

She’s fully crying now but there’s a hint of a smile in her face too…

"And..and..it’s not just about me…I want to help him…I want him to get better…I know him too you know…it’s…I feel known and I want that for him too…I want him to feel that he’s known..for who he is…do you get want I mean?"

 _And loved for who he is. In the core_. 

"It’s good that you know each other so well it is…but remember Carrie…sometimes that can be even harder…somehow..sometimes it hurts more if it doesn’t go the way you want…but it’s worth it, it is…just…don’t get your hopes too high, that’s all I’m saying."

"I was thinking…when he’ll be done with the rehab there, I’d like to move in with him."

"Move…? Carrie, I don’t know if that’s not too early for that…"

"Why? I want to be with him, take care of him…"

"I know it sounds so lovely and you see only the good stuff now because you’re happy and in love but…you also have to consider his needs and wants. I mean…give him some space…give him some time."

"I’m sure he wants the same."

"He said that?"

"Well no but…I just…I feel that he wants that too. God, do I need to explain it in detail?"

"No, but…I’m just trying to prepare you for a possible disappointment…just…I know how things go with these patients who suffered…an immense trauma. Not only physically. They still need to take things slow and…they’re still fragile…I know it’s strange to consider him that because he’s always been so strong and always there for you..but now, perhaps you need to be there for him."

"But I am…"

"Yes, you are..and you’re wonderful and I’m so proud of you but…be there for him even if he chooses to do it his way…ok? Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t go the way you want…at least..not right away." 

"I’ll still ask him…I mean…it makes sense with us…skipping all the dating bullshit and just…be together…we want that."

"It’s not that easy…there’s Franny…"

"I know but…I talk to her about him all the time…she knows he’s someone special in my life and…and I’m planning to take her with me to see him…soon..so, he doesn’t mind I’m sure…  
After Dad’s funeral he asked me to be with him…I wasn’t prepared then and scared to death but now…now I just know I want that…I feel so strongly about this…it’s…"

“But..have you considered..things might’ve changed a bit…for him…I mean..he has a lot to deal with…"

“I’ll still ask him…And I think he will be happy to hear that.”

“Well, good luck then. I mean it. I want you to be happy.”

____________

 

But of course, she didn’t ask him anything because the same day she returned to New York City, Franny got ill with a strong flu and Carrie had to cancel all the work meetings and replace them with sleepless days and nights filled with persuasion techniques involving drinking enough tea and taking disgusting medicine. And that meant she couldn’t go see Quinn. Maggie wasn’t around and she just wanted to make things right. Be a mom, read bed time stories, wait till the fever drops, hold her daughter's hand. 

Sitting in her kitchen all alone this evening, the unfinished text still in her phone and the words still stuck in her mind, she realizes how she misses Quinn. When Franny finally fell asleep, she really wished he was there with her. Not that she hasn’t been thinking about the other stuff they could do together, she has, but now she's just musing about the normal things. Like having a cup of tea together, a glass of wine, talking about everything and nothing, just him being here with her, the image of him at her place makes her long for him even more. She's still a little insecure though, hoping that things are still the same between them, that it didn’t disappear into thin air, the magic of the past weekend. When she called to tell him she wouldn’t be able to come, at least for a few days, maybe a week, he seemed to understand. But still, she feels bad about it. So she takes her phone, opens the unfinished text message and after a few changes she sends it.

_hey hey. thinking about you. I think I’ll manage tomorrow during lunch break. talk to you soon. c._

________________

"Hey" 

"Hey"

"Is she better?"

"Yeah…that was one terrible flu…Really sorry I couldn’t come earlier."

"That’s all right, Carrie."

"Brought you oranges."

"Thanks."

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"Did you get the results?"

"Yeah, this morning."

"And?"

"And…I guess I’ll have to leave this paradise soon."

"Oh, Quinn, that’s…that’s wonderful!"

"Yeah…"

"This…it's...I’m so glad! Listen, Quinn, I was thinking…."

"Carrie…don't."

"…you don’t know what I’m gonna ask…"

"Right, go on then…"

"So…I thought…maybe…you could…move in with me…if you wanted to…"

"Carrie, I don’t think that’s such a good idea."

"Just…think about it…I could help…a lot…we could be…"

"I called Dar. Yesterday."

"You did…what?"

"I don’t know if I want to stay here, in New York."

"What do you mean…here…why…why would you do that…?"

"Have to move on."

"Move on…from what? From me?"

"No, Carrie. Get back to normal. Get my shit together."

"What is normal, Quinn? You mean killing people for a living? Being fucked over by Dar again? You know very well you can’t go back to the agency, at least not in the capacity you want to apparently, your cover’s blown you can’t…and you’re…you're..."

"What? A cripple you mean? Unnecessary? Maybe. But _that_ is me. I don’t belong here."

"You don’t belong…I thought…you belonged to…"

"You?"

"But Quinn…where will you go…"

"I’ll manage…and you have Franny, she needs you in the first place."

"Wait…Franny is the problem?"

"No, of course she isn’t."

"You don’t want to be a parent, right? I’m not asking you to adopt her just…"

Silence. Realization. Fear. Anger. Sadness.

"Oh, so you can’t get over the fact that she’s Brody’s?"

"Christ, Carrie, that’s nonsense, of course not. And don’t drag him into this." 

"Well you’ve started it." 

"I just need to start over."

"Alone, with Dar? I don’t get it. So…what was all that beside the ocean? It meant nothing? Why did you kiss me then…? All that stuff...between us…there…"

"It was…we both got carried away…"

"Carried away…you don’t…you don’t feel anything then?"

"That was an escape. An illusion. This is real and it feels so fucking awful between these walls. And…I don’t want to put you out…any longer…"

"Can’t you see I’m happy because I _want_ to be with you..is that..is that so difficult to notice…?"

"You don’t want that."

"Oh, so now you’re an expert on what I want."

Silence. Again. The look on her face is killing him, so he turns away.

There is an unusual resignation in his voice that breaks her. 

"Look at me, Carrie."

Her voice softens. 

"I am…"

She’s not even upset or angry anymore, she’s on the verge of tears. But she decides she's not going to cry. Not this time. 

"I’m not a mission, Carrie."

"You’re not, you’re…."

_Yeah what am I._

_Yeah what are you, Quinn. What are we?_

"So what would you do with me…babysit me? The thing is…we would destroy each other…we would...because…I feel so lost right now Carrie, lost and angry and…and you can’t fix this. You can’t fix everything. And it’s not your fault of course just…I’ll be miserable…I know it…and I wouldn’t want to make you miserable. You don’t deserve this. And what I feel…that’s…that’s not important here right now…"

"And what _I_ feel..that’s…that doesn’t count either?…You don’t believe when I say I mean this, Quinn…? Don’t do this."

"I have to."

"…so you don’t want me in your life."

"I don’t know if I have a life…anymore."

"That’s…you don’t mean that…That’s such a selfish thing to say. You’re running away again." 

"I just don’t want your pity, ok? You see me for a few hours..couple of days during a week...it's not all there is, Carrie. You think you know how things are...but…you don’t want this, believe me and I don’t want this for you." 

Yeah, Maggie was right. I'm such a fool, she thinks. But she's sure now she can't cry. At least not here. 

"All right Quinn, you’ve made your point. But..one last thing. It’s not _my_ pity that’s holding you back. It’s your own."

And with those words, quickly as a shooting star, she's gone. And she was, these past few moths, these past few weeks. A shooting star. His very own one. And he fucked it up. He wasn't looking the right way, or he didn't want to look the right way because he thought...there was no way he'd ever see one. Because he can't see them. He's not that guy who _could_ see them. And maybe now he never will. Ever again.

He hates her now, because she's right. Or maybe he’s glad he can hate her for a while, or think that he’s able to hate her because otherwise he would burst. The other emotion on the spectrum is too much to handle for him right now. So he goes back to his usual form of entertainment. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. He thinks he’s made it. He things he has crossed the chalk circle. But the truth is, he has just drown himself a smaller one, within the bigger one. The scent trace is lost and he’s left to the worst enemy of all. His own thoughts. 

_____________

There are missions and then there are _missions_. Some of them are essential, some them are noble, and some of them are...pointless. They can lead to victory but most of them still result in destruction. And then...there’s love. Love itself can be a mission. What were the medieval knights doing? Going on a quest or something? Is he one of them? He’s an asshole. That’s what he is. But this is not a good time for self-pity. Back to love. Love that crosses countries and continents, assassination attempts and kill lists. Love that crosses parking lots, funerals, suburban streets and Syrian deserts. Love that could've ended at the bottom of the river Spree. Love that can be felt through thick glass, built with hatred. Love that is stronger than fear. Love that is stronger than the security system of a rehab clinic.

Of course, it really helps when the one in love is a former black ops assassin and a spy. This is not a spy story but a love story so the details of the escape are not that important. It took him several hours to figure things out and make a plan. And it took him several minutes to realize that he was wrong and made the worst decision of all. 

The air is clear. Left foot. Right foot. Breathing increases. Heart is beating faster. He's out of practice, but the first mission after the involuntary retirement is going well. So far. It feels strangely good, freeing even. Being in the field so to speak (again). This is his own pattern although the outcome will be different. He won't feel so numb after it. At least he hopes he won't. For now, he'd rather not think about that. He just continues. It is a pattern, he knows his own ways of escaping and it's a constant movement in circles, but people can change patterns. Those ants are still able to find their way home, no matter how thick the chalk circle around them is. So he goes on, continues with this pilgrimage. He takes trains, hides behind trash bins, sees ghosts both from the past and the present. His feet hurt and his heart aches. On one hand, he realizes how he relishes the darkness around him, wandering through these half-deserted streets ( _the muttering retreats_ , suddenly Eliot comes to mind, he kind of couldn't understand him back in school, but maybe now he does).

_Let us go then, you and I,_  
_When the evening is spread out against the sky_  
_Like a patient etherized upon a table..._

He has always found this image weird and strangely disturbing but now he thinks he gets it. Etherized himself, sedated, living in this self-made limbo, wanting each day to end quickly as possible, to feel as least as possible. And then the next day. And the next day. 

_I should have been a pair of ragged claws  
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas._

He thought he was moving further before, but it was a backward movement. All along. Fooled by his own patterns. Time to find new ones.

This journey seems to be endless, he's getting closer but as he does, the fear increases. He feels less and less strong with each step. Suddenly it starts raining, within minutes he's soaking wet. Yeah, it's indeed pathetic, he thinks. The skies are pitying my stupidity as well. It's only after a while he realizes he's crying himself, too. 

And then he sees it. In the distance. And it all comes back to him. Did she said that at all or did he make it up? He's trying to stay alive in vigorous sea, his feeble boat already broken in half, and he finally sees it. A lighthouse. And it's not a mirage. 

He stops and takes a deep breath. A light in the window. It’s her. It has to be. A knight who's getting sentimental. God, I’m getting old, he thinks. 

He just stands there, barely breathing. The steps are the worst part. The last part of the quest is always the hardest. His heart is almost in his throat. This is it. He knocks on the door. And they open.

There she is. Although he knows exactly how she looks, although he has remembered every single contour of her face, her beauty still knocks him over. This is a different ground. A dangerous, forbidden field. Is she enemy now? Have they become two conflicted parties on different sides within the past twenty hours ? Or…is there still a chance for a peace agreement, without casualties, without broken limbs…and hearts.

She doesn’t speak even though her mouth seems to be moving. She has a kitchen cloth in her hands, how unusual. Or how completely normal. She’s home, after all. He doesn’t know whether to cross the border. There’s no earpiece in his ear, nobody is giving him any orders. He’s completely left alone. To his capabilities. To his mistakes. Completely at her mercy. 

They stare at each other for couple of seconds, it’s their favorite thing, it's always in between, or after those silent seconds, that something happens. Usually. Or not.

But this time, this time it does, again, because he suddenly hears her feeble voice whispering.

“What the hell,” she says. He doesn’t know whether that’s an invitation or a threat but somewhere deep inside, probably around the spot where he used to have a heart, long before, if ever, that estranged organ that came back to life during the weekend beside the ocean, when he finally held his long lost siren in his firm embrace, he feels there is hope. 

His own voice comes back to him too. He sounds different to himself.

"I’m so sorry, Carrie. I’m so…I’m fucking scared."

He stands there, motionless. Doesn't matter what happens. He's glad he's seen her and he's glad he's come here. He'll keep this image in his mind forever. A fair maiden with a kitchen cloth.

But then she speaks again.

"Me too…"

He forms his lips into words again, surprised. 

"I don’t want to…fuck this up…again...I know how it always ends…with us…badly…"

Maybe he's not using his mind anymore. Maybe he's not analyzing any data, maybe it's really his heart speaking. And she seems to notice that because...she reaches out and takes his hand.

She pulls him closer and closes the door.

She whispers, “till it doesn’t,” and he's feeling dizzy. 

“Your own words, Quinn."

She continues, her voice so warm and soft it hurts him immensely. It hurts him because he knows he has hurt her. Twenty hours ago, and many times before.

"Let me...take this off."

Yeah right. Forgot he looks like he just had a swim. He hopes his eyes have already dried.

She disappears for a quick second, then comes back with a towel. 

Only now that she isn't wearing any shoes, their hight difference becomes significant. She reaches up and he bends down a little, almost unconsciously.

She gently dries his hair. Maybe to stop him from dripping water on her wooden floor, maybe because she wants to touch him. And she does. She slowly pulls him towards her and their mouths find each other. Their hearts do too.

It's urgent. It's true. 

This time, there is no going back. And they both know it. 

Love is a journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was typing this, especially Quinn wandering through those half-empty streets, my favorite poem by T.S.Eliot came to my mind, The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock. I quoted it here, and here it is in full :http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/detail/44212 
> 
> I know those NYC streets aren't probably THAT deserted, but let's say they were..that late evening..at least half-deserted :)


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Frangi for her constant support, especially in the process of writing this chapter. <3

Kissing against the wall. Wasn't that something she's always secretly wanted them to do? At least these past months. Each time she visited him she thought...maybe today...maybe...he'll look at me that way again. Slowly push me against the wall like he did in that dodgy place of this, in Berlin, and he would...and I would..and we would...But it never happened. Until now. The sound of the rain is entwined with the sound of their breathing. She feels her rapid heartbeat and is almost sure it has to be fully audible. When his chest is pressed against her, she thinks she can hear his heartbeat too. They know neither of them is going to stop now.

Lots of things are flashing through her mind. One of them is the kiss at her father's wake. Yeah. _That_ one. That moment when she thought there actually _was_ something good in that fucked up world they had made for themselves. And there was. The sensation of Quinn's soft lips on hers, the delicacy of his movements, the way he held her head, that she wouldn't have hurt herself, being pinned between him and that ridiculous car. And now she's pinned to this wall, and she feels...she _feels_. It's almost unbearable.

She wants to hold him close, as if to completely melt into his body. And into his soul.

The towel she's been drying Quinn's hair with is no longer in her hands. She probably threw it on the floor, utterly mesmerized and overwhelmed.

She wants to disappear in him and with him. All wrapped around him, hands in his hair, already feeling like she's going to pass out soon if she doesn't stop. She slows down, breaks the kiss and begins to undress him from his wet clothes. Jacket first, doesn't matter that it's on the wooden floor now. She feels like she's in a trance, they both do. 

They are still not saying anything, but at the same time they are saying everything.

She knows it's happening now, it is, but it can't happen against this wall, in her hallway. She feels he's shivering. Probably from the cold, maybe because he knows that she'll be his very soon. At that thought, she begins to shiver as well.

She takes his hand and guides him further to the kitchen and then upstairs. She realizes they've never really properly held hands. Her palm is so much smaller than his, it makes her smile for some strange reason.

As soon as they reach the stairs, he suddenly stops and she looks back at him. For the first time this evening, she's looking into his eyes for a little longer and what she sees in them almost breaks her. There's longing. There's...love. Maybe fear. The thing is, she feels all those things too. She pulls him towards her as if saying - _Together, Quinn, from now on together_. 

Still holding hands, they emerge in a dark corridor and before he knows it, he's standing in her bedroom, utterly stunned, frozen almost.

Without a word, her fingers touch his shirt and he instinctively raises his arms above his head so she can pull it off him. His trousers are the last remaining wet garment of his. And she helps him to get rid of those too. Still somehow, it feels like a strange choreography, like a well rehearsed piece, even though it's a complete improvisation. 

Even though he's not naked yet, it's her turn now. He's looking at her with the same old intensity, perhaps because he's just realized, he _can_ look now. She feels that she's blushing, even though the room is lit just by the lights emerging from the street, it makes her feel self-conscious. What she doesn't know is that he's scared like hell right now.

She gets rid of her sweatpants and slowly moves towards him. She's wearing an old grey shirt, as soon as her gaze meets his, her lips curve into a slight smile. He can't believe how beautiful she looks right now. So fucking beautiful. They simultaneously take each other's hands and crawl into the bed.

For a few seconds, they lay still and then she suddenly giggles.

The sound of her laughter suddenly sends an enormous ache into his heart. If he sometimes wondered what it felt like to love so much that one's heart could possibly explode, this was probably it. And I'm gonna die before we even do anything, he muses, almost chuckling himself.

But he finally breaks this long silence and whispers - "Wanna stop or..."

She pulls herself closer to him so that he can feel her warm breath on his earlobe and whispers back, "of course not" and kisses him. 

That kiss is slow and tender but also very urgent, as if wordlessly expressing all that she's feeling right now, and all that she'd felt long ago, at her father's wake, in Berlin, behind that glass wall, all those months waiting for his return. He wraps his arms around her and answers with the same amount of urgency and longing, placing himself over her so he's covering her with his whole body, like a shield, her hands go up into his hair, moving to the nape of his neck and pulling him even closer.

Back in that ops room, what now feels like a different lifetime, there were moments when he really wondered how a one night stand with Carrie Mathison might feel like. Crazy wall sex, no strings attached. That same guy would probably never ever believe that one day he'd be undressing her with the utmost delicacy while she'd be, almost inaudibly, moaning his name, that he would feel so overwhelmed with the amount of love he'd feel every time he'd caught her adoring gaze. That she would utterly give herself to him, and he would give himself to her. Not only his body, but maybe even more importantly, his whole heart. 

He feels her tremble under his touch, with each movement she's holding more onto him. He can't remember when he'd been so close to somebody, when all this had such a meaning that goes beyond everything he's ever experienced. He's melting into her more and more, with each soft moan into his ear, with each time she brushes her lips against his.

They've waited for so long and wanted each other so much, that it doesn't take the longest time until they both drift into oblivion and come back on earth again. Glued together like a delicate parchment paper, not willing to separate. Their heartbeat along with their breathing perform an orchestral composition. This is the sound of love and sheer happiness. 

When he moves away from her and places himself beside her, he says, in a very quiet, almost embarrassed voice - "Um...sorry..I..it's been quite some time since.."

She pulls him closer and kisses his ear, chuckling. 

"What are you talking about...it was..."

 _the most wonderful thing_ , she wants to say.

Her head on his shoulder and their hands entwined, Quinn suddenly breaks the blissful afterglow silence.

"Shit, Carrie, I have to make a call."

"Um...a taxi?" She's giggling again.

"No...the clinic. I basically escaped and broke every rule possible."

"Still got it apparently."

"Or maybe...I'll wait till morning...maybe they haven't noticed..what would I tell them anyway...that I..."

"needed to get laid as quickly as possible?"

"Oh, so that's what it was? I thought..."

"Aww, Quinn...someone's really mushy tonight..."

"As if you're not..."

"Me?"

"I heard you quite clearly...do you want me to...I remember everything very well...you tenderly kissed my eyelid and whispered 'Don't move I want to feel the'..."

"Okay, okay fine..."

She doesn't even know why the hell is she embarrassed now, laying beside the person she's just made love to, but she is. She really hopes he doesn't notice her flushed cheeks. 

And with that, in a very mushy manner, both smiling widely, he pulls her close and they're slowly drifting into unconsciousness, wrapped around each other, it's almost impossible to tell their bodies apart. She places her head on his shoulder and before the sweet scent of her hair sends him into blissful sleep, he whispers-

"The morning nurse comes at six..so there's plenty of time."

 

___________________

 

When he wakes up, he's not sure if he's still not dreaming. He remembers Carrie being wrapped around him, their legs entwined together, her breath on his skin. But now she's gone.

Was it all just a dream after all? Is he still in that dreadful rehab room and has he just woken up into one of his usual nightmares?

But when he opens his eyes, he's not in his room. He's home.

Still no trace of Carrie, he crawls out of the bed, realizing it's full of her scent and that makes his heart stop for a moment, and peaks through the door. There is a light at the end of the corridor and an hardly audible murmur. He comes closer, hesitantly, and stays still for a couple of moments until Carrie emerges from the room.

"Jesus Quinn, thought you were a ghost."

"Sorry, I...was looking for you...what time is it?"

"It's almost midnight. I checked on Franny, she had a bad dream."

"All good now?"

"Yeah. Had to reassure her there're no monsters under her bed. The usual stuff. Oh, forgot to close the window, if you just..."

"Is she sleeping already?"

"Yeah, crushed within a few minutes."

"May I...go with you?"

That simple sentence almost choked her up a little, for some strange reason. _Tonight, I'm most certainly mushier than you, Quinn_.

They slowly walk towards Franny's room, Carrie wishes to hold his hand again, as if afraid of the darkness herself. She enters the room and feels him standing behind her at the door.

"Don't worry, you're not gonna wake her up."

He hesitantly moves forward and standing still, looks at Franny while Carrie closes the window. When she turns around and looks back at him, she feels like falling in love with him all over again. Somewhere in her head, perhaps it's in her heart, a feeble voice reassures her that everything happened for a reason and everything still can be okay. She feels like she believes it now, and perhaps she already believed it when she saw them from across the room. Little Franny and Quinn. The most improbable pair of all. Two dearest people in the whole world.

"She's so big now. It's...hard to believe."

"Yeah. I'm so lucky to have her."

With that, she takes his hand and closes the door. They stand still for a few seconds, as if not sure all that had happened before was actually true. He lifts his eyes and looks at her with that same shy smile of his that she adores so much. She hopes that he knows she does love him.

Without thinking, she puts her arms around him, she's so small compared to him, he could easily place his head on hers. And he does. At that sensation, she sighs and looks up at him.

"Quinn...I'm so glad you're here."

"Yeah...I..."

Somehow he can't find the right words to express everything he feels right now. He's relieved. He's happy. A little scared too and so in love with her that it's almost hard to believe she could feel the same. But at the same time, in this very moment, he somehow feels that she does.

They walk towards the bedroom and he silently watches her put a sweater on, while she's trying to find him something to wear.

"Um...none of this will fit...see? You're too big...Maybe you could...wear a sheet?"

He frowns at her and she bursts into laughter because she's just imagined it.

"Like...in a sauna you mean?" They laugh together and then he notices it.

"Is that...is that mine?"

"What? Oh..."

"That time at the ocean. You wore my sweater and never gave it back. You wear it?"

She's turning bright red. _Yeah, Quinn. I'm officially the mushier of us two_.

"Don't people laugh when you wear it to work?" 

"Um..no actually one of my colleagues borrowed it when he slept over one night so...I just recently washed it."

Now he's not laughing anymore. And she quite enjoys that.

"See? I can tease you too."

"So...you really wear it or..."

"For the past week after our night at the ocean, yeah, I wore it almost every day. I missed you, Quinn. And you pushed me away from you. So yeah...believe it or not, the teenager I am, I wanted to fall asleep wrapped in your scent. And then when it was no longer there, I washed it. You can wear it now, if that sauna sheet doesn't interest you that much."

"I...I'm sorry...I acted like an asshole...just..needed to sort some things out...it's...a nice feeling knowing you were...thinking of me...because I was thinking of you too. Come here."

He pulls her closer to him and softly kisses her.

"Don't worry I'll give it back to you...so that you can fall asleep with my scent again."

"Thanks for the offer but I bet you don't wanna freeze in the morning, so you're taking the sweater with you."

She has to smile how cocky he's gotten in an instant. _Why would I need that sweater when I have you, you sweet fool_ , she closes her eyes and wraps her arms around him.

"You can go downstairs and wait for me in the kitchen, okay? I'll be right back."

All alone in the darkness again, still not sure if this isn't a dream, he slowly walks through the empty apartment, the moon shining through the window panes like a silent observer of this whole spectacle, back with his own thoughts he suddenly goes back to that moment standing in that dark corridor, not long ago, in front of Franny's room and the recollection of something makes his heart drop like a sack of cement. 

________________________

 

It's still a strange feeling. Standing in her kitchen, waiting for her till she comes out of the bathroom, watching her soothe her daughter back to sleep. Being with her, actually being with her, after all the time when it seemed utterly improbable. When he sees her emerge from the darkness of the corridor back to the kitchen, his heart almost stops again. He's not used to that feeling that reappears each time he sees her. 

"Okay so...we can have red or white..or...alcohol-free tonight? We're both on our meds so...or maybe just a glass?"

"Who's Oliver?"

"Who?"

"I heard Franny mumble something about some Oliver guy..when you were checking on her...she said that she..um..that she wants to go see him tomorrow."

There is a slight pause. He's not sure what to read from her surprised expression. This is not good. Yeah. This is fucked. Fucked.

"Oh...well...I should've told you..he's...someone special to Franny...and to me...he really helped us to cope with things...these past few months."

All that joy flooding Quinn's heart dropped like a needle into a haystack. He was so sure he finally had it, that he had her, and..all this bliss..all that beauty of that feeling when he held her, when she was his and he had given himself to her, disappeared. Of course. But he can't blame her. He'd been a burden after all. So this Oliver, this fucking charmer who had probably cooked Italian dinners for her and maybe even slept in that bed with her. Or was certainly planning to. Has he already wrapped Franny around his finger? 

Quinn, still in deep thoughts, raises his head a little, only to see Carrie's amused smile. Is she mocking him? 

"Quinn...hey..." She's coming closer to him. Smiling. Wider and wider. Does it make her feel good that she's torturing him this way?

"What?"

"You wanna know more about Oliver?"

"Don't think so, Carrie."

God, is she laughing?

"What's so funny?"

"Quinn...Oliver is a turtle."

"A...what?!"

"Our next door neighbor, Wendy, has a turtle. One day she met me and Franny in the hallway, I had a really bad day and...well...things were tough and..she probably saw that...so she asked Franny if she'd like to see her turtle, Oliver. And then, had spent the whole afternoon with her and I was so thankful to Wendy and that wonderful idea, 'cos I was so worn out and really needed to be alone and try to sleep and calm down. And since then, we visit Oliver every Sunday and sometimes we take him to the backyard outside. So there."

"God I'm such a moron."

"Only half a moron."

And with that sweet laughter of hers that fills his heart with an exact same amount of happiness and aching, she cups his cheek and kisses him.

"You know what, I'm not hungry anymore."

"Me neither."

That night, their sleep was completely dreamless. Perhaps because the dream they had longed for, for such a long time, became true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have poems this time, but a few songs.
> 
> https://soundcloud.com/ry-x/love-like-this
> 
> And this one captures the nature of the kind of love the love between Carrie and Quinn is. Or maybe, how Carrie's love for him was born. I'll leave it open to interpretation. And also, have to draw attention to the sweater on the far right ;)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fyxu3LLwSV4
> 
> Also, speaking about sweaters, this one. Keep Me Warm.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9zE3qtPw4A
> 
> Enjoy!


	8. Bellies & Shells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Rupert for the turtle analogy ;) And again, many thanks to Frangi for her constant encouragement. <3

She feels a tickling sensation at the back of her neck. First thing that comes to mind, Franny. Again, as she always does, escaping her room, leaving poor Hugo, her dear rabbit friend, behind and snuggling into her mother's warmth. Poor Hugo. Unfortunately, at this age, Mom always wins. Most of the time.

She opens her eyes, not wanting the morning to come and willing to dream a little longer but then she realizes who this body behind her belongs to. So it's not just a dream. And perhaps what had happened was real as well. She turns around, staring at that body still sleeping right beside her, leaving her completely breathless. 

She moves closer and puts her arms around that body. The body stirs a little and embraces her too. She whispers sweet nothings into those precious ears of that body. Kisses them both. The said body giggles. And her heart skips a beat because it's only now she realizes that, apart from her own daughter, she's never heard so much happiness captured in that single sound. At least she hopes it's _that_. Eyes still closed, he's still smiling, mirroring her own face. She's smiling so widely her cheeks actually hurt. She wants to say millions things but she can't so she just hugs him firmly and whispers - "Don't go anywhere. Stay with me."

Without words, he pulls her towards him. And she, still half-asleep, begins dreaming again. Diving deeper and deeper into the ocean. Only after couple of moments she notices sounds coming from afar, distant waves, maybe it's the sirens singing, not realizing it's her own voice. She's trying to be quiet, but she just can't help it. With each kiss, her heart bursts with those floods of feelings more and more. It's all slow and dreamy, they hardly move. She's moaning his name and he's whispering something to her ear, something she can't quite catch, since her brain is turning into mush. After couple of seconds, maybe minutes of a blissful oblivion, she whispers again - "I'll call them and sort it out...just...don't go."

He pulls her closer, if that's even humanly possible, and answers - "I'm a big boy...need to sort it out myself. But I'll come back." He opens his eyes and looks directly, and deeply into hers- which suddenly sends shivers down her spine - and continues, with a hint of nervousness in his voice, "...if you want me to..."

"Take the sweater and don't be long."

And with that, he softly kisses her again and he's gone.

 _Don't worry, Penelope. I'll return home. Home to you_. 

 

________________

 

No sign of cyclops. No sign of sirens. Just early morning New York streets and singing birds. Just him and his laughing heart.

He concentrates on the sound of his steps. It's still dark outside but this city never sleeps. Thousands and thousands of lights coming at him from obscure corners.

How is that even possible. To feel so light and so...content. He knows there's still a long way ahead of him. But now, after that night, he feels like there's a chance. Maybe he _could_ do it. Maybe they _both_ can.

Carrie. _Carrie_. So fragile, so...tender it took his breath away. The sounds of her soft sighs still ringing in his ears like a song he wishes he never forgets. Ever.

Still overwhelmed with it all, he's not quite sure if he had said anything. Expressed anything. Perhaps what he did with his touch was enough. A different form of speech. He's not one for words after all.

As he walks through the streets, he's amazed by the strange order of things. Everything makes sense. The bakeries open. The streets are being cleaned. And tomorrow, it'll be the same.

Suddenly an image of him being _normal_ emerges somewhere at the back of his mind. Normal, whatever that is, suddenly doesn't scare him anymore.

He looks up and notices the sky has changed; the day is almost here. For some strange reason, the color of the morning sky, the way the sun makes its way through the dark clouds, makes him smile.

He passes a lonely drunk, reciting a poem into the chilly morning air. This dark corner is his church, these drunken words are his prayer.

 _your life is your life_  
_don't let it be clubbed into dank submission_.  
_be on the watch_.  
_there are ways out_.  
_there is a light somewhere_.

He feels a sudden shiver, as if those words were spoken directly at him. As if he was supposed to stop and listen more carefully. Always on the move, being who he is, he doesn’t; but as he leaves those words behind, like forgotten memories, like all those dim lights a boat floats away from, leaving the shore behind, he still hears them.

 _it may not be much light but_  
_it beats the darkness_.  
_be on the watch_.  
_the gods will offer you chances_.  
_know them_.  
_take them_.

________________

 

The second tickling at the back of her neck is really Franny. Usually Carrie has no problem with waking up early, but this time she slept like a dead weight. 

“Mommy, when can I go see Oliver?”

As soon as I figure out the other guy in our lives my sweet girl. 

“Soon, honey, soon. But first I need to talk to you about something.”

“Um…can I bring Oliver to the backyard today and give him strawberries?”

“If Wendy approves then sure…but…Franny…remember when I told you I have a friend who…who wasn’t well and…”

“Quinn?”

“Yes, Quinn, that’s right. So…the thing is…he _is_ better now so…I was thinking…maybe we could spend this afternoon together. If you’d like that.”

“Can I show him Oliver?”

“Sure. I think he’d like that.”

The image of Quinn standing in their backyard, trying to look interested in the adventurous life of their turtle neighbor makes her giggle. Then suddenly, the image of Quinn and Franny together takes her back to her Dad’s wake and that makes her a little emotional. Before her eyes would well up with tears, she quickly gets out the bed and pulls Franny into a tight embrace. 

“Now hurry hurry, we’ve got a lot to do.”

“But…Oliver…”

“Oliver is still asleep Franny. Maybe later okay?” 

Aways on her mind. But who could blame her. Carrie can’t think of anything else apart from the only one thing too. Quinn. 

His warmth. So much better than the sweater. His hands. The depth of those eyes when he looked at her. She’s never allowed herself to be so vulnerable with anyone. Maybe with Brody she was, but…it was a different kind of vulnerability. This is complete trust. Complete devotion. For the first time ever, she was really herself. It wasn’t only her body that was completely bare, it was her soul too. Her true, complicated core. He’s known her long before that and this was the next big step. The circle was completed, it was the most natural thing. The truest thing.

She just wanted him to shield her, to take her, to disappear in her the same way she wanted to melt into him. She almost blushes thinking about all those things she did last night. So not her. Or…perhaps…finally…so truly _her_? How she stroked his hair, kissed his eyelids, held him so tightly because she wanted to hear his heartbeat, almost whispered to his ear she loved him but softly moaned his name instead. And now, he’s gone. But when she thinks about the possibility of him returning back to her, about the possibility of a similar night with him again, sheer happiness overwhelms her senses and she feels life being poured into her veins. 

_________

There were days when she really hated this city. Those were the days when she felt immensely lonely and scared. When she didn’t know if Quinn would ever be the same, if he’d ever recover and come back to her. But at the same time, this city brought her even closer with Franny, this journey was their very own adventure. Not that Berlin wasn’t, but it was different. She didn’t know what she knows now, Franny has grown into a wonderful girl, a bright mind just like her mother.

Maybe before she didn’t, but now she finds delight in the most mundane things. Like for example, watching her daughter bask in the wonder of a market on a Saturday. Being fascinated by all the colors and scents, being curious about everything. 

Feeling alive more than ever herself, musing about her love for this city, for the man she kissed just a few hours ago and still feels the taste of his lips on hers, Carrie notices a few lines written with a chalk on a board in front of a small coffeeshop. She stops and reads it.

 _you can't beat death but_  
_you can beat death in life, sometimes_.  
_and the more often you learn to do it_ ,  
_the more light there will be_.  
_your life is your life_.  
_know it while you have it_.

I’m gonna tell him. I’m gonna tell him tonight. She’s sure now.

_________

 

When she opens the door and sees him, her heart almost jumps out of her chest. He shyly spreads his arms and she hugs him. They stay like that for a while, not daring to move, as if afraid that it all might disappear and never come back. 

Still embracing him, she whispers - “Hey”

“Hey”, he says, and she hears a smile in his intonation. 

“Is Franny…”

“Yeah, she’s in her room. Having tea with Hugo.”

“Hugo…”

“Her rabbit. Eager to see you though.”

“Um…I’m a bit…you know…”

“Don’t worry. She knows you’re coming. How did it go?”

“Well…the morning nurses were a bit late this morning. Sneaked back in time. On an official leave today, no shady business.”

“Is that so…look at you, following the rules.”

“In fact…till…tomorrow…if…”

“Oh, that’s…good.”

Just before they both notice they’re actually blushing, someone else emerges behind them.

“Are you Quinn?”

The little girl stares at him with curiosity.

“Oh, Franny, come here, this is my…friend Quinn.”

“Hello.”

“Um…hi Franny.”

He feels incredibly awkward and Carrie senses that.

“Wanna know something? Quinn already met you once before, when you were very very little.”

“Um, I don’t remember. Can we go see Oliver now?”

Carrie and Quinn simultaneously smile at each other and raise their eyebrows. 

“Ah, of course. The highlight of the day.”

__________  


 

Carrie noticed the look on her neighbor’s face when she saw Quinn appear in front of her door with them. Her glowing smile probably said it all, no explanations needed. Perhaps Wendy also realized he was the reason of her sadness back then, too.

Franny takes the basket the elderly woman hands to her and surprises Quinn with an invitation.

“I’ll show you where Oliver likes to eat his strawberries. Want to see?”

Carrie smiles at him whispering “I’ll be right there.”

They truly are the most unlikely pair. A tall, slender former spy and a little redheaded girl. And a turtle.

At the backyard, Franny carefully takes the turtle out of the basket and places it on the grass. She gently touches the turtle’s head and looks back at Quinn.

“He likes when I do that. He’s not afraid anymore because I’m his friend. Maybe one day you can try that too. When you become his friend.”

There’s really something truly resembling Carrie when he looks at this precious girl and it makes him smile.

“Oliver was really ill. He fell on the ground and his shell broke. But he’s better now. See? Here…But turtles need the shells, they can’t live without them so I wanted to make him a new one. But he can’t be without it, not even for a while, he has to stay inside it. It’s broken but he can’t have another one.”

“Yeah…the shell is like a house. It protects the turtle. Because…the turtle is very fragile and very soft inside you now.”

“Yes, it is. I wanted to touch his belly but it’s hidden. He has the shell here too, see?”

“The belly has to be protected. Otherwise, Oliver could get hurt more easily.”

“You were hurt too?”

“Um…kind of. Yeah. But I’m better now. Much better.”

“Mommy visited you when you were ill. I know because she told me. Are you better because Mommy was visiting you?”

“Yes. For sure. Your Mom…took care of me like you took care of Oliver and his shell.”

“You met me when I was in Mommy’s belly?”

“Um…yes I did.”

“Mommy told me you were her friend when I was still in her belly. She told me you cheered her up when she was sad.”

“I did. I like to cheer your Mommy up whenever she is sad. I like the most when she is happy.”

“I like that too. I’m happy when I can play with Oliver. When you will be sad, you can come and play with him too.”

“Oh, thank you. I’d really like that.”

After minutes of Franny’s long monologues about Oliver’s food preferences and detailed descriptions of all Franny’s kindergarten friends and imaginary friends, including Hugo, Carrie appears and tentatively touches Quinn’s shoulders. 

“Hey you two. Sorry, couldn’t escape sooner.”

Quinn gives her a reassuring smile and squeezes her hand behind his back.

They are still not sure what is happening, and at the same time they are, still a little afraid to address things directly. 

It's an unexpected and wonderful afternoon. Franny and her witty commentary about everything in the world (but mostly about everything related to turtles) makes them laugh. When Wendy brings them cake and chats with them for a while, Carrie notices how she's eying them both and her lips curve into a slight smile each time she catches their shy and adoring glances. Carrie is surprised when Wendy asks Franny to go and give good night to Oliver with her, not entirely sure she didn't do this on purpose, just to give her and Quinn a moment alone.

When they leave, she lies on the grass and reaches for Quinn's hand.

"So...what do you think of Oliver?"

"Ah, he's a nice guy. Not too intimidating. Doesn't talk too much..."

"Like you."

With that she pulls him towards her and rests her head on his chest while he embraces her with his arms.

"Quinn...I need to talk to you about something I...oh...pffff"

He's suddenly blowing air on her face, gently. He's never done that before, it takes her by surprise.

"What -"

"You had an ant there, just below your eye, here."

And when he touches her face, he feels her laughing against his chest.

"Can we just not talk yet...for a while, just...I want to remember this."

And with that, he closes his eyes and tightens his firm arms around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite poem cited in this chapter:
> 
> The Laughing Heart 
> 
> your life is your life  
> don't let it be clubbed into dank submission.  
> be on the watch.  
> there are ways out.  
> there is a light somewhere.  
> it may not be much light but  
> it beats the darkness.  
> be on the watch.  
> the gods will offer you chances.  
> know them.  
> take them.  
> you can't beat death but  
> you can beat death in life, sometimes.  
> and the more often you learn to do it,  
> the more light there will be.  
> your life is your life.  
> know it while you have it.  
> you are marvelous  
> the gods wait to delight  
> in you. 
> 
> Charles Bukowski


End file.
